Bad Cop, Worse Cop

"We still learn important life skills in modern American high schools," Tori pointed out in a stage whisper, her whisky breath warm against the side of my face. I smiled over at her. Down in my lap Gianna seemed to have a contribution she wished to make to our conversation, but my hand on the back of her head told her that I wasn't interested in hearing anything else out of her but the smack of her lips and the gagging of her throat.

And there was plenty of both. The girl's mouth was a rain forest, humid and slippery, her spit running down over my balls and trickling thick and hot all the way down to my perineum. I heard her slurp, loudly, and then my dickhead was wedged hard into the back of her mouth, her throat massaging me, and her eyes smiled up at me when she heard me groan. Nimble little fingers found their way through the slit in my underwear, pressing cool against my scrotum, spreading the saliva there. Her ass remained taut and hard in my hand as her legs stayed tightly curled, and I forgot I was dealing with a mere teenager as I let my middle finger stray under her thong and into her butthole, straight in to the first knuckle.

She freaked out at once, her entire body tensing as her face came up off my dick. "What the fuck was that?" she spat, and I just looked down at her innocently as I slowly withdrew my finger. Her eyes were wide, alert with sudden skittishness. Tori leaned in to get her first look at my exposed dickhead, Gianna's right hand wrapped hard around the shaft. The green-eyed girl frowned thoughtfully at it.

"Ms Donato," I told her, "sometimes we find ourselves doing things we don't expect. We should use those as opportunities for personal growth." I shrugged and jabbed my finger right back into her anus, enjoying her little yelp. "Now suck," I commanded, back in cop mode, and she was back down there with her face beet red, slobbering and smacking, and I leaned back again. Her rectum was hot and gritty around my finger.

Something was wrong, though. She was trying hard, giving a real first-class effort, but I simply wasn't getting there. Maybe my tank was just empty. It would make sense; I'd fired into Olivia three times the night before, on top of my little games with Amber. Whatever. The cause didn't matter. Vaguely I grew concerned. I was pretty certain that word of this might get out around the high school, and I didn't want to be remembered as a guy who couldn't do the job.

The other girl was looking curiously at me from the window when I glanced her way again, and my dick gave a welcome twitch against Gianna's tonsils as I stared coolly at Tori's tits on display. She followed my gaze and arched her eyebrows mischievously, her thin lips making an O, her face mock-scandalized. She smiled, then motioned for me to lean toward her so that she could whisper in my ear.

Her breath tickled.

"Are you looking at my tits?" she demanded, and I could hear the grin in her voice. I just looked at her, sideways now, and let my expression give her her answer. "Shit. I should be offended on Gianna's behalf," she scoffed, and then she pulled her head away from me to end the conversation.

And still I wasn't in danger of cumming. Poor Gianna was getting dry now, her gagging louder. I looked again, desperately, at the two perfect breasts with the impossibly deep valley between, and Tori's hand crept up to her neckline to pull her tanktop down, far down, showing off the leopard-print bra underneath. This she eased down too, nonchalantly, like she was plucking an apple from the produce bin, and there it was as I'd seen it teased on Pixboox: the fat, lush left tit, the dark areola the size of a silver dollar, sprinkled with little bumps, and then the nipple itself, pointing at me like a little finger.

I know my jaw flopped down again. And then I was watching, completely outside myself, as my own hand rose from the seat beside me and crossed to the sexy girl in the window, her eyes glittering, and then latched on, filling my hand and fingers with the cool, dry, glorious flesh there, the perfection of her young and eager titmeat, with her nipple hot against my palm.

Christ.

It was Tori's turn to drop her jaw, leaning further in to fill my hand with her breast, and that was when I blew my load hard and sudden into Gianna's mouth. I heard nothing, my ears buzzing and my whole body rigid and awash in delicious hotflashes as I fired straight down the girl's throat.

God, how she wanted to pull off; nope. I didn't need my own cum all over my pants, thanks. So I held her down while she gagged, her snot dribbling down onto my underwear, and it was lucky for her that I was only able to generate two weak spurts. And all the while I was fondling Tori's tit as though it was a stress ball, her waiting there for me to finish, as though getting groped by a cop shooting his semen into another woman was an everyday occurrence for her.

The whole thing was weird and wild, probably the dirtiest thing I'd ever been a part of. The back of my cruiser was hot and sticky now, funky like a locker room, and after a few more panting moments I let go of Tori's tit and Gianna's melon and relaxed into the hard seat.

Gianna popped up like a hard-on, glazed and gasping, her face red. She leaked tears and snot and spit. Oh, and cum, overflowing her trembling lower lip. I pushed her frantically away from me. "Not all over my uniform!" I told her sternly. "Go drip somewhere else." She blinked at me, confused; out of the corner of my eye I caught Tori packing her boob away, my handprint still bright red where I'd squeezed. "There are paper towels in the console."

"I'll get them." Tori's voice was sweetly reasonable, and a few seconds later the dome light came on as she slid through the passenger door. She perched her ass in the seat and twisted around, holding out some of the institutional paper towels from the PD bathroom. The sudden harsh light left all of us blinking and looking around, dazed, the whole scene incredibly squalid.

Gianna swiped at her face, sobbing quietly, and Tori and I exchanged a thoughtful look. Then we both smiled.

* * *

Next morning I came home to a nice Olivia breakfast and a long, shredded nap. By the time I got up my tablet was full of notifications: ah. Slutlucky had posted something new, with ButtLove99 tagged or mentioned or friended or whatever it was called on this app. I signed in as Lauren and scrolled to where her shit was posted.

And then I smiled, genuinely amused.

There, in a very typical girl's bedroom, one she'd used many times as a backdrop, a topless Tori knelt on her bed in a pair of black boyshorts. She grinned at the camera, her whole face alive with mischief, holding a little sheet of white poster board right in front of her chest. It was small enough that you could see the sides of her breasts swelling past the edges of the board, and on it in large black Sharpie was a bold message.

#BlueCocksMatter

Olivia looked at me curiously when I laughed loudly. I chose not to tell her about the image.

* * *

I got a text from Tori a couple days later, around the time I got Rachel to finally leave. My dick had at last recovered from the thirty-hour onslaught of Amber, Olivia, and Gianna, and I'd given the clingy, slinky Rachel all her little Olivia-esque pussy could handle. She left sloshing. Of course Tori had my phone number; it was linked to the Pixboox account. I'm trying on Halloween costumes, she told me. Want to come over and hang out? My friends are all working.

Her folks weren't home, I discovered after a few cautious questions, and after a couple moments' thought I decided the East Adams High investigation's integrity required that I follow every possible lead, even if it meant looking at a sex fiend in Halloween costumes.

On the way, I replied, and I drove over there leadfooted. Of course I'd gotten her address from the state drivers' license database, along with her birthdate and her social, so I knew exactly where to go. Naturally I left the cruiser in my driveway and took my truck; that way, if a blue moon happened and the Chief drove past my house, he'd know I was still there, ensconced in my Batcave, diligently gathering evidence.

Sure, it was a bad idea, heading over there to hang out with my new little friend Tori. Sure. It was a colossal piece of bad judgement in a lifetime of bad judements, and I knew it well even as I made the turn onto her street. But whatever. I'd been showing bad judgement ever since Old Larry had signed off on my rookie paperwork, and it had always turned out well: nice house, outstanding girlfriend, commendations, the prospect of the Detective gig at just 33... why stop now?

Besides, it was her idea. She seemed to like me. And there were worse things than chilling with hot nymphs.

I parked well down from her parents' house, a nice split-level in a good neighborhood, and walked coolly up the sidewalk in a baseball cap and sunglasses. A dog barked in the backyard when I rang the bell.

"Quiet, Shithead!" Tori's voice from inside, getting louder, and the dog shut its yap. She opened the door with the brisk warmth you'd use for someone you'd known awhile. "Come on in, Michael! Nice to see you again!" She bounced back into the house, down the stairs, as I shut the door behind me. She was in loose athletic shorts and a long t-shirt. The door clicked shut, and I locked it. Cop habit.

"Your dog's name is Shithead?" I asked, following her down the short set of stairs to the basement.

"Sure. My dad named him," she said, as if that explained everything. "My room's downstairs."

"That was pretty wild the other night, huh?" I went on, following her down a hallway to her familiar bedroom. "Did Gianna get in trouble? With the warnings?"

Tori looked over her shoulder at me, her eyebrow arched, her smirk cynical. "You don't think people actually pay attention to your warnings, do you?" She passed through the door. "She didn't even tell her parents. She was really grateful to you; that was probably, like, a really expensive ticket, right?"

"Almost $400."

"Shit. That bitch never could drive. Still, thanks; she's my ride to Allie's." She nodded toward her bed. "Take a load off, Michael. Want anything? A beer?"

"That'd be nice." She seemed like a grown-up, like a normal homeowner, and it wasn't an act. She was light-years ahead of her peers. Hell, she was light-years ahead of most of my peers. She reached down underneath her desk, to a beat-up dorm fridge. "Whoah. You've got your own refrigerator?"

"Of course." She squinted at me, her already-narrowed eyes slits now. "What? How old were you when you got your first fridge? It's common these days, old man." She retrieved two cans from what looked like at least three cases of beer. "Here. I hope you'll overlook a little underage drinking, Michael, under the circumstances." She giggled as she popped open her can.

"Age is a state of mind," I agreed, raising my can. She clinked hers tinnily against mine, and then we watched each other take deep, hard swigs. I sat down on an unmade bed with pastel-green sheets. "So. Halloween costumes."

She brightened. "Yeah! For the famous Allie Schultz party. There's a contest and everything." She frowned. "Wait. You and your friends aren't going to make an appearance, are you? Like, unannounced?"

I'd checked, the day after I'd stopped Gianna. "We get called out there almost every year," I confirmed. "Noise, mostly. Not too many arrests, though." I paused and wondered if I should say it, but I was drinking with this girl; why not? "You, of course, have nothing to worry about."

"I should say not." She perched her butt against her desk, one leg swinging. "What's the point of having a friend on the police force, if not to keep my ass out of trouble?" We laughed, easily, like old buddies. "Speaking of which..." she went on, deliberately casual, her leg swinging. Her tone made my police senses tingle. "Can I throw out a hypothetical?"

"Sure." I sucked back some more beer and reclined onto my elbows. Looking at her more closely, I could see no evidence of a bra. Her tits in the t-shirt had that special, mesmerizing twitch that a nice rack only has when it's unbound. I swallowed in a dry mouth as she continued.

"Suppose, hypothetically," she sighed, her eyes rolling theatrically, "I knew one of my classmates was dealing. Oxys, heroin, shit like that. I knew she was doing it, and I saw her doing it, and I got it filmed." She looked at me, her eyes narrowing again. "With me?"

"Sure," I said again. Her swinging leg hypnotized me. "Did you buy?"

"No," she replied at once. "I don't do that shit. Just weed. But I got it on my phone. So, what if I was to put it on Pixboox, and Lindsay Doyle was to run across it..."

"Uh-huh," I nodded.

"...and 'she' was to let you know about it, and my classmate was to get, oh, I don't know. Arrested? Prosectuted? Incarcerated?" She chuckled softly. "Hypothetically, would that be something that you could make happen?"

"Hypothetically?" I tossed my head sideways. "You'd need to be prepared to testify in court, but usually with teenagers, we just show them the video and they collapse, crying like little bitches. They confess everything." More beer. I belched. "Usually. Unless it's a serious quantity, though, they cut a deal for probation." I thought about it. "I'm sure she'd get kicked out of school, though."

She grimaced; I'd noticed on Pixboox that Tori had a very expressive face. "It's Alyssa Lopez. She's on the winter cheer team, the basketball cheerleaders." The distinction seemed important; Tori cheered football. "I don't like her."

"Don't you?" My beer can rattled emptily as I shook it for her. Wordlessly, Tori slid down to the floor and squatted at the fridge to get me another one. "Why?"

She opened the beer for me, then extended her tongue and licked daintily at the condensation on the top before she handed it to me. It was a strangely intimate act. "She's dating some guy, some college guy," she explained. "Real hot, and apparently he's got a huge cock." She held my gaze as she drained her can. "Interested? It could make you look good with your boss, too."

It could. "Might be. I think Lindsay might be logging on again later tonight."

She grinned quickly. "Sweet." Her empty can hit the desk with a hollow clang. "Anyway. Just think about it. I'll post the shit whenever Lindsay needs it."

"Cool." She relaxed again on the desktop, her leg swinging once more. "So, what? Was that all you asked me over here to do?"

"No, Michael." She was puckering her lips impishly now. "Halloween costume contest," she reminded me. "Remember? I'm aiming to win that shit, and I've got it narrowed down to three costumes. I need you because you're a guy."

I chuckled. "You've got no guy friends?"

She winked. "Nope. I don't hang out with guys much. I just use them." She stared at me until she was sure I had her meaning, then shrugged. "The winner at the Schultz party has to be super-freaking-sexy. I think I know which of my costumes is sexiest, but since you're a guy, you can... how shall I put it? Reaffirm my choice?"

The second beer was a different brand than the first, much lighter and sweeter. "Reaffirm?"

She shrugged. "Just let me know which costume makes you horniest. You can do that, Michael, can't you?"

"You know me too well, for someone I only met a week ago," I said, shaking my head. "Let her rip, Tori. I'm just going to sit here and look pretty."

"You do that." She was already pulling her shirt over top of her head, letting those glorious tits jiggle their way into sight without any shame or modesty. "Let me know when your dick tells you I look good."

"Right now." I was staring quite openly at her chest, at the perfection of her full flesh and her big nipples. "Right fucking now." She scowled at me, then dropped the shirt and turned to rummage through a brightly colored pile of polyester on her desk.

"I did go as a mediaeval princess last year," she mused, sliding a short black gown over her head. "Sort of a Game of Thrones theme. The dress was like two sizes too small." The gown came down, falling just below her vagina; she was peeling off her running shorts before I had time to recover, showing me a glimpse of perfectly symmetrical waxed pussy lips with a generously long slit topped by just a haze of pubic hair. Again, she showed no embarrassment at all.

Not that she should.

"Well?" When she finished, she was a prototypical sexy witch, complete with black fishnets and a jaunty pointed hat. "You need to picture it with boots, which I left at Heidi's house. Knee-high, patent leather, four-inch heels."

I considered. She looked like a fucking smokeshow, but then she looked like that no matter what she wore. "It's great," I began, "but I've got to say it's nothing special. Would you wear a bra with it?"

"Probably." She shrugged. "This costume looks fine without one, but my boobs tend to get groped sometimes. As you well know, Michael."

"Hey!" I raised my eyebrows, utterly innocent. "You pulled it out, Tori. I just grabbed it."

"Fair enough." She frowned, looking down at herself. "I didn't mind. Take a picture, so that you can compare it to the other ones. Then you can masturbate with it later," she added, completely without irony. She did know me. She struck a pose, her hands on her hips with the hem of the short gown pulled up on one side to show a hint of the black silk thong she'd put on. I took several shots while she preened for me, ending up with her back toward me and half her ass exposed in the fishnets.

I was hard as a rock.

"Cool," she breezed, all business, and then she was stripping again, and already it seemed natural, like we were teammates sharing a locker room. Jesus, who was this girl? "I got this idea from an old sticker book," she mused, buck-naked but for the thigh-high fishnets, that nutcracker ass pointed at me like a sawn-off shotgun. Even her back, muscular and slim, even her fucking back was a thing of beauty. "Sort of kinky, really." She was leaving the stockings on. "Michael, do me a favor. There's a green thong in the dirty clothes pile, under the window. Toss it over?"

I had difficulty moving, my dick was so hard. I rolled over on her bed, my arms hanging off the edge, perching my beer on a bedside table littered with used tissues and condom wrappers. The dirty clothes were indeed dirty, the rank sweetness of girl-sweat wafting up, but the thong was right on top. That saved any burrowing. I was just reaching for it when she sang, "Never mind," from behind me. "I'll just go commando for this."

"Shit," I grunted. "You've got me rock-hard over here."

"Well, I don't see how that's my fault," she frowned petulantly. "It's just a female body, Michael. You are a mature, established adult. If you can't control your penis, don't blame me." She was striking a pose when I flopped back over, and I lost my breath at once when I saw her. "How's this?"

She was... well, Tinkerbell I guess. If Tinkerbell charged by the hour. "Holy fucking shit." I was tugging at my cock over my pants before I even had time to think about it. "That's the one. Don't even bother with another choice," I croaked, for there was no way I could picture her looking any sexier. The green leotard might as well have been bodypaint, shimmering, looking like real satin. It was high-cut over her hips, framing a cameltoed pussy etched in sharp relief where the light hit the satin. The garment stretched up along her slender flanks, obviously lightly boned, to spread out into a pair of cups that just barely hid her nipples and not much else. She had her hair pulled hastily back into a ponytail. "You look like a female superhero. Drawn by a horny adolescent."